Bloody Noses & First Kisses
by Belestrange
Summary: Christmas at the Burrow. Ron drags Hermione outside because he needs to tell her something. What happens?...


A/N: (story is now edited) I'm still not sure I quite like this – think they're still a _little_ out of character, but I like it a lot better than I used to.

Disclaimer: I own only the plot…and Ron.

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-sigh- Okay _fine, _I don't own Ron. Jeez…

Bloody Noses & First Kisses

Christmas at the Burrow was the one time of year that everyone looked forward to. Well, all the Weasley children, anyway. And of course, Harry and Hermione, although they were so close to the Weasleys that they might as well have been considered part of the family too.

Hermione, especially, loved Christmas at the Burrow. Being an only child, she loved being surrounded by so many people. She loved all the bustling and storming around her, which was so different from the quiet Christmases of her childhood. Of course, she felt a little guilty that she wasn't spending the time with her parents, but somewhere in the whirl of everything, she forgot the guilt. Besides, the best thing about Christmas with the Weasleys wasn't all the people, or the noise, or the scent of Molly's cooking wafting deliciously out of the kitchen constantly. No, the best thing about Christmas at the Weasleys' was spending time with Ron.

Christmas was their time. Christmas was the one time of year when they let go of all the restraints that kept them from showing affection for each other. At Christmas, they could curl up on the couch with one another and no one, including themselves, would think twice about it. Just because it looked so right. Hermione could give Ron a kiss on the cheek when she was proud of him, or he'd helped her get the cocoa mix down from its high shelf. Ron could hug her or put his arm around her and…it was just natural. So maybe the twins made these little things into bigger deals than they needed to be, and maybe Harry and Ginny smirked and giggled about it, but it was the one time of year when they just didn't care.

It was on one such Christmas that Ron summoned up the courage to do something he'd been wanting to for ages. The house was uncharacteristically quiet, and Hermione sat in the living room by herself, reading. She looked up as Ron came thundering down the stairs.

"C'mon," he said, quietly, glancing around anxiously, as though afraid someone might be listening, "We're going outside." Hermione looked up at him haughtily.

"I'm quite comfortable where I am now, thank you," she said, clearly annoyed at being interrupted with such a ludicrous idea. Ron rolled his eyes.

"I have to talk to you."

"So do it here. It's cold out."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just can't. If Fred and George hear – "

"They're upstairs with Harry."

"Yes, but still, can't you please just get up?"

"Absolutely not, Ronald."

"Fine, we'll just have to do this the hard way."

And with that, he picked her up and flung her over his shoulder. She shrieked and pounded his back, but he refused to let her go.

"Put me down, Ron!"

"No." He carried her over to the hall closet, grabbed their coats, then somehow managed to maneuver them out the door, although, by now, she was flailing her legs and very nearly kicking him in the face. "Stop that."

"No! Put me down!"

"I'm not putting you down until you stop kick-ouch!" Her foot connected with his nose and he let go of her immediately. She slid to the ground and looked up at him angrily, until she realized that he was bleeding.

"Oh, God, Ron, I'm sorry." She pulled out her wand and muttered, "_Evanesco_." The blood vanished, but his nose still stung. "Take your hand away from it," she instructed. He remained stubborn. "Ronald Weasley – " He took his hand away. It scared him when she sounded like his mother. She examined it closely.

"It's not broken. Are you alright?" He nodded, although his pride was clearly wounded. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to actually kick you," she said.

"'S'alright," He muttered gruffly. Then he noticed that she was shivering. "Here, take your coat." He tossed it at her and she caught it clumsily – sometimes he forgot that she didn't play Quidditch. They both pulled on their jackets.

"Um…well, what did you want to tell me?" She asked, rather cautiously. Suddenly all the anger drained from his face, in fact, all the colour disappeared…for about two seconds. Then he turned brick red and she saw his ears heat up.

"Er…well, let's go down to the pond, shall we?"

"Alright." Hermione shrugged. She grabbed Ron's large, warm hand, which she noticed was trembling slightly (though she attributed it to the cold), and they set off for the frozen swimming hole.

&

"Are you going to tell me what you brought me out here for, or are we just going to stand here all evening? Because the sunset is very pretty and all, but I'm freezing," Hermione said to Ron as they watched the sun sink lower and lower into the horizon. He bit his lip. She was rather attracted to this, but wouldn't have admitted so.

"I'm – I'll tell you," he said, carefully, as though he wasn't sure how to go about what he was doing. "But maybe – I mean, it'd be easier to show you, see." He tried to meet her gaze and failed miserably. "That's what Harry did…" It was almost as though he was talking to himself, rather than her. But she was catching on.

"You mean – " Her cheeks flushed, though not from the cold.

"Yeah, I reckon…" It occurred to her that they were facing each other now, and holding hands, which wasn't so unusual, but it gave her the chills all the same. Maybe because she knew what he was getting at, what was about to happen. Ron was still stuttering incomprehensibly, so she cut him off.

"Show me then." She tried to keep her voice even, but they both heard the nervous edge in it.

"What?" God, she hadn't heard his voice break since…maybe third year. But there it was again.

"Show me." He swallowed.

"Alright…" She leaned in, stood on tiptoe, closed her eyes…and he kissed her. It was very soft, and very fast. As they broke apart, she could feel herself turning red, as red as Ron was, which is to say, quite. But she must have had a stupid, silly grin plastered across her face, just as he did, because when he kissed her again, it was certainly with much more confidence, and it was anything but soft. His lips crashed down on hers violently, and she gave a soft, contented moan, because this was how she'd wanted to be kissed since she was fourteen years old, and she knew he was the only one who could kiss her this way.

When, at long last, they broke apart (the sun had set ages ago), She smirked up at him and said,

"So what was it you wanted to tell me?" He smirked right back down at her.

"I love you." She grinned.

"Figures – you wait to tell me until _after _you kiss me."

He smiled. "It was just a precaution."

"And what would you have done if I'd slapped you?"

"Dunno – I guess I wasn't really expecting you to."

"You're so full of yourself," she teased.

"But you love me for it," he smirked.

"That I do, Mr. Weasley," she whispered, just before he leaned in to kiss her again.


End file.
